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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29736141">All the Truth in the World is Held in Stories</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShinySeaWave/pseuds/ShinySeaWave'>ShinySeaWave</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Old Guard (Movie 2020)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>(but he's barely in this!), Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Magic, Canon Gay Character, Canon Temporary Character Death, Canon-Typical Violence, Lykon Lives (The Old Guard), M/M, No Smut, Prince Nicky | Nicolò di Genova, author knows zilch about sword fighting, background Andromaquynh, gratuitous use of the word destiny, very very very tiny bit of what could be read as homophobia</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-02-27</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-02-27</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-15 20:47:31</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>15,886</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29736141</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShinySeaWave/pseuds/ShinySeaWave</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>In a world that lost its magic a group of immortals emerge, their destiny not known to any of them. From gods to princes to merchants to warriors, they are everyone and every being to the world. A Storyteller, a master of magic and the arts, steps onto a stage centuries later to teach their story of destiny to a curious audience.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani/Nicky | Nicolò di Genova</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>6</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>58</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>The Old Guard Big Bang</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>All the Truth in the World is Held in Stories</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>So here is my entry for the BB. I haven't published fanfiction in a couple of years actually but I've wanted to participate in a Big Bang for a while now.<br/>The rating is for the violence elements because I can't be bothered to write smut or anything like that.<br/>This whole thing is heavily inspired by a bunch of fantasy novels I've read and fantasy RPGs I played. Mainly Kingkiller Chronicles (the title is a quote from it), some Cosmere books, and Tales of Symphonia (the last one: if you know it you will see which part lol). But I didn't manage to capture the writing styles like I wanted to.  Still, it is inspired by those. And it's basically also a mix of a bunch of ideas I have for original works.<br/>Also, life got in the way so I hope I didn't miss any mistakes.</p>
<p>City and country names are entirely made up by smashing syllables together, layout of the world is similar to ours for convenience, and this is a fantasy AU because I didn't have time to do the research for a canon-compliant story. </p>
<p>Immortality in this works a bit different to canon!</p>
<p>Art by the lovely Ryan (<a href="https://treeborgs.tumblr.com/">@treeborgs</a> on tumblr). He managed to take the scene that was what I basically built this story around so: Thank you so much!!</p>
<p>Have fun!^^</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>In the late hours of the night the sounds and scents of the local pub pulled every traveler and bored person in its orbit. The clinking of mugs and the singing of the patrons was inviting and made one think of warm hearths and long nights with one’s family.</p>
<p>The Storyteller was preparing his lute next to the stage which made up the back wall of the room. His colleagues on the stage were playing a jaunty tune, animating people to dance.They were talented but not mesmerizing like the alumni of the Academy of High Arts. Which wasn’t surprising. It wasn’t possible to learn by oneself what the Academy could teach.</p>
<p>Their Art was more than playing music or telling stories. And he would show them all what it meant to be a proper Storyteller. That title was earned and people paid well to have a good Storyteller grace their presence. He didn’t do it for the money, he just wanted to tell Stories. But he prided himself in being one of the best.</p>
<p>The band on stage slowly changed their tune to something more slow to let people know they would soon finish their performance. Only a few couples now moved around the floor dancing in close embraces. Other people moved to sit down or get another drink. There was an air of anticipation in the room and the Storyteller saw a few glances coming his way. They hadn’t experienced someone like him yet. It would be a special night. He could feel it.</p>
<p>His eyes glided over the night’s patrons. Average farmers and noble knights shared a room. Something that wasn’t common. A few hundred years ago he wouldn’t have seen any Dolomoni merchants or Katarem scholars in the same room either. </p>
<p>Nine-hundred years ago the sight of the newcomers wouldn’t have been too surprising. The Storyteller observed the three people sitting at a table in the corner. Mercenaries they were. Strange ones though in the eyes of many people. Not that their type ever wasn’t strange but these three were even more so. The Storyteller prided himself in knowing many things, many cultures, and he expected others to have never seen clothes like these on the two women.</p>
<p>The patterns and wrapping details were like that of Vimorian garments but they didn’t wear reds and browns. The man wore what looked like an ancient version of the medicine guild’s cloth, a wide white shawl wrapped around the shoulders and fastened with a clasp signalling one’s specialization. But he carried a sword. Nothing someone practicing medicine should carry.</p>
<p>The Storyteller smiled, noticing how people in the room looked at them. It always amused him to see people react like this. Slowly he turned to look at his lute again. They would soon have something else to look at.</p>
<p>The Storyteller let his eyes roam over the crowd again for one last time before he moved to his place on the stage. People’s eyes were on him and the air felt like it was vibrating with all the excitement.</p>
<p>He looked back at the children who were assembling in front of the stage and smiled at them. These were the people he did this for.</p>
<p>Slowly he sat down and let his head sink to his chest. One breath and a second, just to focus. Then he looked back up and situated his instrument in front of him. He began playing, his fingers easily drifting over the strings and gently pulling shallow sounds from them.</p>
<p>“Energy surrounds us, energy makes us. Stories full of energy give us what we miss. What we lost. This is a story about loss. But also about finding,” the Storyteller began to say over the sound of his instrument, sparks dancing around him, wanting to create forms and tell his story.</p>
<p>A young man looked at him skeptically. The Storyteller was used to reactions like this. But he would change his mind. He always had. For many this was nothing more than a nice fairy tale hour but for others it was a waste of time. Unfortunately.</p>
<p>So the Storyteller smiled and continued. “Once our world was split into many countries. War and business lived side by side, making life prosperous for some and miserable for most. In that world a young prince was born, the seventh son of a seventh son. His father had gotten the throne by a series of fortunate coincidences, leaving him the last one of his siblings alive. But his son was the youngest and could do whatever he favored.”</p>
<p>The sparks around the Storyteller formed themselves into figures, changing colors and dancing around to reveal what looked like a child, playing around in the garden. The children in front of the stage looked at it, mesmerized beyond belief, and tried to touch it. But their fingers slipped through the illusion as if it was water.</p>
<p>“While the prince grew up, pampered and comfortable” - the Storyteller glanced at someone across the room with a cocked eyebrow - “a merchant’s son from a far away country grew up learning his father’s trade. A trade that made him something like a prince in his part of the world.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>* * * * *</p>
<p> </p>
<p>When Yusuf was a child he loved playing with his siblings, he loved running around the fields and the desert, he loved watching the weavers create baskets, he loved watching the builders create houses, and he loved the way his mother’s hand moved across paper creating worlds with a pen that did not exist or which reflected their own.</p>
<p>She taught him, guiding his hand with her’s. Gently, lovingly, in the late hours of the day when the sun warmly illuminated their garden and the wind softly caressed the bushes and trees. Amira, Yusuf’s older sister, usually joined them, grabbing fruits from the trees and sharing them with her brother and their mother.</p>
<p>Yusuf’s world was this. Enjoying life, enjoying creation, enjoying love. His mother, a woman whose beauty made people turn their heads and who's loving heart made people love her, taught her children everything they needed to know about the beautiful things in life because to her they were the foundation of care and love for the world.</p>
<p>Her husband taught their children about the stars, about numbers, about how the world works, so they would understand how life worked. Together their teachings formed educated minds with love for others. A basis for good work relations no matter where they would go.</p>
<p>At the age of twelve Yusuf traveled with his father and older siblings for the first time to experience his family’s occupation first hand. Until that day Yusuf had only traveled over to the next city for the market. They passed through again this time but continued on afterwards, taking their carriages across the desert.</p>
<p>Uncomfortable heat, sand everywhere and having to ration food and drink resulted in a journey Yusuf found strenuous. Cold nights and homesickness didn’t help and Yusuf found himself being pulled close by his sister a lot as thick drops of tears soaked her tunics.</p>
<p>When they finally reached the next city Yusuf never wanted to see sand ever again. That thought was forgotten the minute they entered the market: a huge metal and glass building filled with stores and stalls, plants and waterways. The scent of oranges mixed with the scent of various spices, blooming flowers mixed their scents with those of freshly baked bread and pastries.</p>
<p>Yusuf’s hands itched to touch, to paint. The colors of the market he knew but he had never seen such a vast majority of them in one place, creating rainbows and patterns all over that seemed otherworldly.</p>
<p>It was unfortunate that he had to help his father and siblings with their stall. Not that selling merchandise wasn’t an interesting experience. Customers came in a wide variety of people, making every interaction something fascinating and new. But it didn’t fill Yusuf with the joy he experienced when putting a pencil to paper.</p>
<p>Around midday his father sent them all away to get something to eat and just experience the market. Yusuf ran off as fast as he could, weaving his way through the crowd, moving past the waterfall and up the way to get onto the viewing platform above it.</p>
<p>Everything about this place was magnificent. Not wasting any time, Yusuf got out his drawing pad and a pencil and began drawing the old dead tree hung with lights and other decorations that stood atop the source of the waterfall.</p>
<p>There was just something about the pattern of its bark, the way the branches knotted in the air and around each other. With quick but practiced strokes Yusuf immortalized the tree and its decorations.</p>
<p>“You can draw well,” someone next to him said in Norelian. Yusuf looked up to his right and into another boy’s greenish-brown - or was it blue? - eyes. Curious and earnest eyes they were, covered just so slightly by blonde fringe. And compared to Yusuf this boy was still a child.</p>
<p>“Thank you,” Yusuf replied, “I hope my Norelian doesn’t sound too rough.”</p>
<p>“It sounds different,” the boy said with a smile and sat down next to Yusuf. “My father wouldn’t let me draw. He thinks it’s a… friflos thing to do.”</p>
<p>Yusuf nodded understandingly at that but wondered what the word ‘friflos’ meant. Maybe he needed to check his Norelian books again or ask his mother.</p>
<p>“Do you like art?” Yusuf asked, adding a few more strokes.</p>
<p>“It looks pretty. But I don’t know. My father had me painted once and I don’t think it looks like me,” the boy said.</p>
<p>So he was rich. Yusuf glanced at the boy’s clothes. Rich silks and complicated embroidery supported that impression. He probably was even a noble. From what Yusuf knew, only nobles wore anything like this boy in Norelia.</p>
<p>Yusuf glanced around but couldn’t find any knights guarding the boy. He only saw an Eastern woman with long hair arguing with another woman about the price of horses. </p>
<p>He hoped they wouldn’t get into trouble. Norelians weren’t known for associating with people like him.</p>
<p>“Here,” Yusuf said and gave his pencil to the boy. He opened another page and gave the drawing pad to him as well.</p>
<p>Wide-eyed the boy looked at him. “Just try. It doesn’t matter what it looks like,” Yusuf told him.</p>
<p>Slowly the boy put the pen down and pushed it over the paper. Yusuf wasn’t sure what it was at first but soon it looked like a rough outline of a castle whose kind he had seen in books before.</p>
<p>“Is that your home?” Yusuf asked.</p>
<p>“It doesn’t really look like it,” the boy sighed.</p>
<p>Yusuf smiled and patted his shoulder. “Not everyone can draw. But one can practice and maybe learn how to. And everyone can learn to appreciate art.”</p>
<p>He took the drawing pad back from the boy and flipped through it until he found what he was searching for.</p>
<p>The only colored drawing in his drawing pad was something he was especially proud of. It showed his family’s garden with all the plants. Fruits hanging from trees, flowers blooming, grass swaying in the wind. His mother had said that he managed to capture reality perfectly.</p>
<p>The boy seemed to find that as well as he stared at the picture, his fingers gently caressing the page. “This is beautiful,” he whispered.</p>
<p>“It’s our garden,” Yusuf said.</p>
<p>“It looks so real. Can art just do that?”</p>
<p>Yusuf smiled at him but never got the chance to reply because a knight appeared. “Master Nicolò, your father is furious,” he said, “Please follow me.” The knight gestured for the boy - Nicolò - to follow him.</p>
<p>“I don’t want to,” Nicolò said but the gesture of the knight indicated that he had to follow. He said good-bye to Yusuf and thanked him for showing him his art. “Maybe we’ll see each other again,” he said.</p>
<p>“Maybe,” Yusuf said. But the knight’s comment afterwards told him all he needed to know.</p>
<p>“Master Nicolò, you shouldn’t interact with those people. You are a prince. He is just a peasant, no matter what their people might claim.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>* * * * *</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“It doesn’t look real,” Nicolò complained.</p>
<p>“Young master, I do assure you that there is no way to capture anything in a painting to that degree as of now,” the painter said, rubbing the bridge of his nose.</p>
<p>“That is not what I mean,” Nicolò said, shaking his head. “I mean real as in capturing the feeling.”</p>
<p>The painter groaned. “Young master, this is the fifth time you make me redo this painting and I can’t believe I have to say this but I don’t think you appreciate art.”</p>
<p>“Your art is not capturing what it should,” Nicolò said.</p>
<p>“Ma’am, I’m so sorry but I can’t work like this,” the painter said to Nicolò’s mother. “I’m a renowned artist all over the world and I can’t believe that my attempts of recreating the mountains of Karala in picture aren’t actually up to par to the real thing.”</p>
<p>Nicolò’s mother sighed and walked over to them.</p>
<p>“It is very beautiful. Don’t worry. I will pay for it nonetheless. My son is very.. specific apparently,” she said. She turned around and fixed her son with a glare that he had known too well for most of his ten year old life.</p>
<p>“He might need to consider choosing a more appropriate pastime,” his mother added. She waved her hand at a servant. “Fetch my purse and tell my husband that he needs to talk to his son.”</p>
<p>“Please, not that again,” Nicolò whined but his mother silenced him with another glare. He knew discussing it with her would make no difference. This time both his parents would make sure he did what they thought would be more fitting for someone his status.</p>
<p>His older brother, prim and proper, walked into the room and barely glanced at the picture. He didn’t even bother to greet the artist. “Mother, I have an urgent matter to discuss regarding the finances,” he said. And with that Nicolò was again left to himself.</p>
<p>He wandered out of the room, passing more and more rooms and guards everywhere. No matter where one looked, someone was always watching. He hated it. He wasn’t one of his sister’s porcelain dolls that would break the minute you even looked at it wrong. He just wanted to feel, to see, to experience.</p>
<p>How often had he tried to find a way out of the palace to see the streets and people of their city! But it was to no avail. He would never leave unless it was ordered by his father.</p>
<p>His father. He could be nice but most of the time he was just not present at all. Nicolò knew he had a kingdom to run but his father had always had time for all his older brothers. Why was it different for him?</p>
<p>Nicolò took the stairs down to the big sitting room where one would usually find his sisters. As usual they sat together, playing cards or reading. His oldest sister was currently delving into the studies of Healing, a subject she had said that had only been recently introduced to the university’s curriculum. Not that she would be allowed to go but it would make literature about it more widely accessible and she hoped to find out more about it.</p>
<p>And she taught him a bit as well, reading her books to him even though he didn’t understand what was said. But she explained what illnesses and injuries her books talked about. It did sound fascinating. His father would never allow him to learn this.</p>
<p>Nicolò sat down next to his sister, leaning his head against her side and feeling her caress his head as she read. A gesture he hadn’t even experienced from his mother in years.</p>
<p>“And?” his sister asked. Nicolò shook his head.</p>
<p>“Maybe another artist will achieve what you want, one day.”</p>
<p>“Mother might not want that to happen.”</p>
<p>“Did she..?”</p>
<p>“We’ll find out later.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>* * * * *</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>The slap sounded across the courtyard, echoing from the stone walls. It had been the first time in four months that that happened. Not that that was a record for the fastest time it took for it to happen again. </p>
<p>“Listen, boy, I do not care about your status or anything. All I care about is that you should follow orders,” the old knight said, staring directly at Nicolò.</p>
<p>“The order didn’t make any sense,” Nicolò said.</p>
<p>“Excuse me?”</p>
<p>“You told us that in this scenario the best way was to attack from the right flank. But that’s the most unprotected for our group as well. Because the opposing forces are way smaller than they should be. Which means they have reinforcements hidden which will attack from that flank. So if you tell me that even in situations that make no sense I need to follow orders then yes, I do not follow orders.”</p>
<p>A vein on the knight's forehead looked like it was about to pop as his face turned red. “One week in isolation and another week of kitchen duty,” the knight said, “Dismissed.”</p>
<p>Nicolò shrugged and walked away. Not that he minded that. It was better than the alternative of having to listen to that guy for the next week making snarky comments about him being stupid. </p>
<p>Even after four years of military school he was still seen as someone who didn’t know what was right. Nicolò hadn’t read Corbin’s Rules of War for no reason and aced all his theoretical tests to be judged by a washed up knight that hadn’t seen actual battle since he was in his twenties.</p>
<p>Nicolò hadn’t seen actual battle yet but he understood the theory. And he was otherwise also good at fighting. At least in practice.</p>
<p>He stepped into the school’s building, moved along the long, grey corridor decorated with pictures of former students.</p>
<p>“Young master Nicolò, shouldn’t you be in practice right now?”</p>
<p>Nicolò looked up at the teacher who had asked that. He shrugged.</p>
<p>“Got to go in isolation,” he said, turning to move up the stairs.</p>
<p>“Again?”</p>
<p>Nicolò shrugged again. “I can’t change that Greven doesn’t like criticism of his strategies.”</p>
<p>The teacher snorted and rearranged the books in his arms. “Yes, he doesn’t particularly like that. Never did in fact. Which is why he was made to teach you children.”</p>
<p>Nicolò smirked.</p>
<p>“You know,” the teacher said, looking at his stack of books, “I have a book here you might want to read during isolation. And of course so you can keep it I’ll have you write an essay on it.” He pulled out one of the books and gave it to Nicolò.</p>
<p>“‘War, Art, and Believe’?” Nicolò said.</p>
<p>“You will find it most fascinating. And it’s applicable to our political situation.”</p>
<p>“Thank you.”</p>
<p>Only a few hours later, lying on the cot of the isolation room, Nicolò agreed that it was exactly what he would enjoy reading. War accounts combined with their artistic depictions and the connection artists made between faith and war. After reading about the brewing conflict between Norelia and Maraji, Nicolò found this even more enlightening regarding this conflict.</p>
<p>Between Norelia following the New Creed and Maraji being ruled by the Old Gods, all their trade had dwindled for years already but apparently the Maraji were even considering not negotiating about anything with Norelia anymore at all.</p>
<p>And the drawings in this book showed again why. Pictures of the New Creed followers - whose belief allowed them to consider better methods for fighting - triumphing over the Old Gods whose way was very strict and unyielding in its methods.</p>
<p>Nicolò finished the book on his second day of isolation and immediately began to write his essay, explaining strategies and how the conversion to the New Creed was the right way to achieve greatness in war. It did mean he spent most of his isolation just rereading parts of the book and of course the only other book that was allowed in isolation: The New Creed.</p>
<p>When his week was over, Nicolò immediately went back to the training grounds. After a week he needed to practice to catch up again. He couldn’t let his training slide. He found his friend Alic already hacking away at a practice dummy, hay flying to the ground with every hit.</p>
<p>“You’re back,” Alic said, his face lighting up the minute he looked at Nicolò.</p>
<p>“Finally, yes,” Nicolò said, smiling back at Alic.</p>
<p>Alic dropped his sword and wrapped his arms around Nicolò. “I missed you.”</p>
<p>Slowly Nicolò wrapped his arms around Alic. “I missed you, too.”</p>
<p>“Liar,” Alic mumbled against Nicolòs shoulder, a smile in his voice. Nicolò chuckled.</p>
<p>“I was a bit preoccupied,” Nicolò said as he let go of Alic.</p>
<p>Alic grinned. “I heard about that. Hope the book was good.”</p>
<p>“Very fascinating.”</p>
<p>Alic nodded and picked up his sword again. “Wanna go for a round?”</p>
<p>“Thought you’d never ask.”</p>
<p>Nicolò picked up a sword from the rack at the side and positioned himself across Alic on the sandy sparing field. He swiped his sword through the air a couple of times, having to get used to the weight again.</p>
<p>“Ready,” he said after a few seconds.</p>
<p>Alic was the one to make the first move, trying a gentle stabbing move that barely passed next to Nicolò’s side and would have hit him if that hadn’t been a practiced move meant to fake an actual stab.</p>
<p>Nicolò glanced at the sword, stretched his neck a bit and hit his own sword against Alic’s. As always when he had to be in isolation he felt rusty the first few minutes and Alic was definitely taking it easy on him. But soon the practice fight became a lot more even between the two of them.</p>
<p>One slash there, one step to the side, a stab, swords clinking against each other. It didn’t take long for both of them to be out of breath. Nicolò hadn’t felt so alive in a while. Alic always knew how to fight with him to test his abilities. If it hadn’t been for him, Nicolò wouldn’t ever have gotten as good as he had got.</p>
<p>Alic grinned at a missed slash from Nicolò who had to look aside and didn’t see the slash from Alic that accidentally hit him against the arm. It wasn’t much, only like a paper cut but Alic let his sword fall immediately.</p>
<p>“I’m so sorry, Nico!” Alic looked at him as if he was in pain himself, gently grabbing Nicolò’s arm to take a look.</p>
<p>“Don’t worry. You didn’t really hurt me,” Nicolò said. He laid his hand against the side of Alic’s face and looked him deeply into the eyes.</p>
<p>“Maybe we should stop,” Alic said.</p>
<p>“Maybe.” Nicolò let his eyes wander across Alic’s face, taking in the blue of his eyes, the slight curve of his nose, the way his lashes framed his eyes, and the pink of his lips.</p>
<p>Nicolò seldom let himself feel anything like he did in this moment. As a prince, no matter how many older siblings he had, he shouldn’t feel this. His whole life meant serving his country and if he had learned anything from his father over the years it was that he couldn’t serve by not continuing his bloodline. And his feelings about Alic would result in exactly that.</p>
<p>But he wished for this. Wished for Alic close to him. Nervously he licked his lips. Who cared about trouble he could get himself into with this when the pull in his stomach told him how amazing it would be. He should just lean in.</p>
<p>Alic beat him to it, gently pushing his lips against Nicolò’s. It wasn’t a lot, just the pressing of lips against each other that broke a few seconds later. But it was all Nicolò had ever wished for. </p>
<p>“I should have let you injure me sooner,” Nicolò joked.</p>
<p>“And give me a heart attack even earlier? I’m too young for this.”</p>
<p>They grinned at each other and Nicolò stole another kiss from Alic’s lips.</p>
<p>“Let’s get inside so I can mend my shirt,” he said. Something that didn’t happen for a few hours as both boys found themselves kissing even more, lying on Nicolò’s bed until it was time for dinner.</p>
<p>Nicolò changed his shirt after they heard the bell ring for dinner and showed his arm to Alic. “See? Barely a scratch. You can’t even see it anymore.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>* * * * *</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The stack of books in Yusuf’s arms almost toppled down as his sister barely missed him on her way somewhere else. “Sorry,” she mumbled and hurried away along the corridor. Yusuf watched after her. She had been absent in the last few weeks and at first Yusuf had worried. By now he knew he didn’t have to. She was just nervous about something that made her happy.</p>
<p>He didn’t fully know what it was but she had promised him she was fine and happy. And he believed her. She had promised to tell him more soon. Yusuf expected it was about her regularly leaving the house and why so many people had arrived over the last couple of weeks.</p>
<p>Yusuf walked on to his father’s study where he and Yusuf’s older brother were listening to Yusuf’s mother giving a rundown of the books. About their income and expenses.</p>
<p>“I’m telling you, it is going to get difficult. I can’t say how long it will take but the Norelian government has made things more difficult and it is going to get worse,” Yusuf heard his mother say as he entered.</p>
<p>“Got the books,” Yusuf said and put them down on the table. His parents and brother exchanged a look before his mother turned to him.</p>
<p>“Thanks, love.”</p>
<p>She took a better look at the stack and grabbed a book out of it.</p>
<p>“Yusuf, can you go down to Karim’s store and give him this list?” his father said and handed Yusuf a piece of paper. Yusuf nodded and turned around, trying to hide his disappointment. He was fourteen. He wasn’t a child anymore but his family still treated him like one.</p>
<p>He went along the corridor, past the plants and pictures decorating everything, and out of the grand wooden front door. One of his older brother’s two children and their mother played outside on the front lawn. Apparently they were currently into playing magicians, acting as if they could throw fireballs towards each other.</p>
<p>Yusuf waved at them and left the premises through the front gate. Outside he saw his neighbors in their flowery gardens and outside on horses and carriages, moving up and down the cobbled street. He greeted many of them along his way and felt the joy they all had.</p>
<p>He could have taken a horse or a carriage to get to the shop but he wanted and needed the time for himself. Things had gotten a bit strange recently and also stressful. His father had kept everyone busy trying to keep their business afloat and school was taking over a lot of time as well.</p>
<p>And on top of that Yusuf was experiencing his family and even his teachers keeping things from him and others his age. He only had glimpses of what was going on from moments like when he came into rooms before the adults could stop their conversation.</p>
<p>“Yusuf,” someone called from the side, dragging him out of his own thoughts. Nazim, another merchant's son, walked up to Yusuf, a smile on his face. Yusuf smiled back.</p>
<p>“Where are you going?” Nazim asked.</p>
<p>“Down to Karim’s shop. Got a list from my father.”</p>
<p>Nazim bit down on his lip and looked to the side. “Do you mind if I accompany you?”</p>
<p>“Not at all.”</p>
<p>They went on together. Yusuf looked ahead as good as he could but he noticed Nazim regularly glancing at him, still biting his lip in thought. They went to the same school and had grown up around each other but only recently they both had started to talk more to each other. And Yusuf had realized early on the reason for them wanting to interact with each other like this.</p>
<p>He had read enough books and seen enough people to know what the fluttery feeling in his stomach and the constant want to smile at Nazim meant. Just as he knew what Nazim felt. The other boy didn’t manage to keep that to himself in his actions. He hadn’t said anything but Yusuf still knew. He just didn’t know how to approach Nazim about it. Nothing has ever managed to explain that to him.</p>
<p>“Does your family also have problems with getting their wares sold?” Nazim asked after a long while of silence.</p>
<p>“I think. They aren’t telling me anything to be honest.” Yusuf sighed and crossed his arms.</p>
<p>“Me neither. They probably think I'm too young or something like that.”</p>
<p>Yusuf nodded. “That’s the impression I get as well,” he said, “And I’ve been around their business since before I could walk. They should be able to trust me with that information.”</p>
<p>“Parents.”</p>
<p>“Yes. But also I think they don’t know how it was, being our age. You can’t tell me that they didn’t feel like this as well.”</p>
<p>Nazim smiled at Yusuf. “You are such a thinker. I really like your mind,” he said.</p>
<p>“Thank you,” Yusuf said, feeling his cheeks warm and his own smile getting brighter.</p>
<p>They didn’t say anything for a while again until they reached a Remembrance shrine. They both stopped, said a short prayer and touched the small statue inside it. Then they continued on.</p>
<p>“Do you think the Gods will come back one day?” Nazim asked. Yusuf rubbed his nose in thought.</p>
<p>“I mean, it’s what is said, isn’t it? And it makes sense. Because the final day will have them walk the earth again so magic can return. After we have learned our lesson.”</p>
<p>Yusuf looked at Nazim. “Don’t you believe that?”</p>
<p>“I do. I just find it hard to imagine, you know? At least that it could happen in our lifetime.”</p>
<p>“It might, it might not. We will know if we see it happen,” Yusuf said.</p>
<p>Nazim looked up and into Yusuf’s eyes. Both boys stopped walking. They just looked into each other’s eyes until Nazim broke the silence again. “I really like you,” he whispered. He probably didn’t mean to say it out loud, judging by his eyes becoming wider after saying that, but Yusuf didn’t care. Everything he had been feeling washed over him again, making him feel afloat and as if he could do anything.</p>
<p>“I really like you, too,” he said, leant forward and pressed a kiss to Nazim’s lips. Still smiling at each other they continued on afterwards. Their arms interlocked and their hearts now entwined.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>* * * * *</p>
<p> </p>
<p>His commander had given them a job to do and Nicolò was adamant to achieve it. The Norelian forces were pushing the Maraji back and they had to assure it would stay that way. Norelia would stand as the victor because the gods were with them.</p>
<p>Their winning is what showed everyone that they were in the right, that they had the gods behind them and believed in them the right way. As a Follower, a soldier of the New Creed, believing in the gods like that: soldiers who are supposed to bring their divine to the rest of the world.</p>
<p>And the Maraji would learn that. Everyone would learn that in time.</p>
<p>Nicolò had spent the last couple of years of his twenty-three years in this world perfecting his fighting and as soon as his sword cut through the first Maraji soldier he knew why it had been so important. Fighting took a lot out of one, physically and mentally. But Nicolò was prepared.</p>
<p>He swung his sword, cutting through people and horses, separating limbs from bodies and cutting arteries. Each step, each swing was in honor of the gods.</p>
<p>His fighting instructor had called him ruthless before but if he could have seen this he would have been astounded and amazed by how well Nicolò had developed. A fighting machine like no other, the top of his class and frightening to everyone who had not ever learned to fight like he had. Nicolò was born for this and even the most skilled fighter these Maraji soldiers had barely managed to hold their own against him.</p>
<p>The next second, pain filled Nicolò and warm wetness dripped down his shirt. Protruding from his chest was the sharp tip of a sword, now stained red and its silver barely visible. Then Nicolò fell to the ground, gurgling on blood and gasping for air until his sight turned black. His last thought was a prayer.</p>
<p>A prayer to the gods that must have been answered as he found himself lying in his own blood and the dirt of the ground a few moments later, confused and adjusting to the darkness of the night. It was silent around him, except for the wind blowing against fabrics and other things that could move.</p>
<p>Slowly, Nicolò lifted himself up from the ground and let his eyes wander over the battlefield. Hundreds, if not thousands, of bodies piled across the field, it smelled like death and excrements. If he had seen himself before as the roaring hero of a folktale he now felt like death himself coming to wander around to fish out the souls he wanted.</p>
<p>Remembering what happened, he looked down at himself but only found a bloody shirt with a hole in it with no evidence on his own body for what had happened. He looked around again and a smile slowly appeared on his lips. He had prayed and believed and he had survived. There it was. The proof that he was chosen by the gods to do their work.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>* * * * *</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Not far from where Nicolò found himself to be alive on a battlefield, a young Maraji man found himself trying to navigate a city filled with hostile soldiers. Yusuf had spent more time with art and the art of business than he had ever bothered to understand the art of war. But he knew the art of fighting as it had been part of the university’s curriculum.</p>
<p>Still, he did not understand why people would throw themselves into war like these soldiers had done. Because he could see it in most of them: they enjoyed it and craved the blood and destruction. They showed it in every moment of their lives. Yusuf was disgusted.</p>
<p>He hurried along the streets, trying to get to the university grounds without running directly into the soldiers. They were nothing but tourists in this city so far but he still didn’t want to risk upsetting any of them. The mayor hadn’t done anything to keep them at bay and he wouldn’t do anything if they decided to execute their own kind of justice.</p>
<p>Yusuf had seen it. He had seen homeowners being thrown out of their own houses, bar keepers being forced to give out food and drink for free, and people beaten by the Norelians without ever facing any consequences. He didn’t know why they could be so cruel without remorse.</p>
<p>He knew their faith but he had always hoped that believing in the same gods meant a certain amount of similar values. Apparently he had been mistaken in that regard. There were no values found which they shared.</p>
<p>Especially a sense of decency was nowhere to be found. Something he again saw when he turned a corner and almost crashed into the back of a soldier. His colleagues were currently cornering a woman around his mother’s age.</p>
<p>Yusuf saw a basket with groceries lying on the stone of the street. Someone had walked right through some of the food. That someone was pushing the woman closer to a wall now, most likely leering down at her. Yusuf had seen this behavior at the university before with drunk students.</p>
<p>It was a split-second decision and probably a dumb one but he couldn’t bear with not doing anything. So he threw his bag filled with books at the nearest soldier’s head, knocking him out cold. Then he took the guy’s sword before his friends had gotten closer to him.</p>
<p>Unfair was the fight. He should have known. But rage burned inside him and a want for justice. He yelled at the woman to run and after she had grabbed her basket she ran off. Yusuf did manage to hold off two of the soldiers but they soon overwhelmed him and stuck a sword right through his chest, nailing him against a wall. And as he drowned on his own blood he just hoped for something, for someone to be sent by the gods to end this horror the Norelians bestowed upon everyone.</p>
<p>When he opened his eyes again, lying on the cold stones and only hearing the sounds of distant people, he was disoriented and confused. His mouth tasted like iron and his clothes were dirty with dust and blood. And when he felt for his wound he came away with nothing but dried blood on his fingertips.</p>
<p>Maybe the gods had listened and given him what he asked for. Made him into the someone he had prayed for to bring an end to the war. </p>
<p>He examined his fingers, usually dirty with charcoal, now dirty with blood. If the gods wanted him to do the job he would do it. He would enlist and train. Even if it took a few years, he would go and fight.</p>
<p>No one but someone Undying could achieve what the gods wanted, that he was sure about.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>* * * * *</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Nicolò had been fighting without end for days, barely sleeping, barely eating. Maraji was an unforgiving country but there was no stopping for the Norelian forces. After years and years of religious suppression of the New Creed they had to free their brothers and sisters from the Maraji government.</p>
<p>It was tiring this life. No matter what he had learned before and experienced in his thirty years alive this still wasn’t easy. Not to mention that he still didn’t know what exactly was happening to him. But the gods must have given him this talent. There was no other reason for this.</p>
<p>He walked across the battlefield, slashing left and right, taking out one Maraji soldier after another. There used to be a time when fighting seemed like fun. Now it was just strenuous and annoying. There was no real glory behind it either when one could take stab after stab, slice after slice, and come back with not even a scratch on oneself.</p>
<p>Nicolò wanted a challenge. They were winning but his ego didn’t feel like it would matter much. There were more fights. There always were. And this purpose the gods intended for him still didn’t seem clear. Winning would be one thing because they wanted the right faith to be established everywhere.</p>
<p>He slashed through another soldier and moved further. There was something happening not far from him. He saw a group of soldiers moving against a Maraji soldier who was a phenomenal fighter. He didn’t seem like he had trouble fighting off and killing Norelian soldiers.</p>
<p>Nicolò ran towards him to help his fellow soldiers but the last of them fell to the Maraji soldier’s curved sword. Nicolò cursed and swung his sword at the other guy who parried it with ease.</p>
<p>Again and again their swords clashed, showing how evenly matched they were. Finally there was some form of challenge. But Nicolò had an advantage not even this formidable swordsman had. </p>
<p>So he used that, leaving himself open in opportune moments to get a better chance at hurting the enemy. In a few seconds he managed to at least scratch the soldier but he wanted to actually hurt him, kill him.</p>
<p>The other man was very good at evation. Too good. A couple of times he felt the other man’s sword ripping into his flesh but it wasn’t a lot. He stepped back, trying to assess the enemy. The man’s dark locks covered parts of his face and his beard covered even more. A typical Marajin.</p>
<p>He stretched his neck a bit before launching to hit the man again. Two steps forward, one slash next to the leg getting blocked, another attempt at hitting the man’s head. It felt like they were too evenly matched.</p>
<p>So he tried something dangerous, fainting another hit that made it possible for him to slash across the other man’s chest. In turn the soldier pushed his sword into Nicolò’s shoulder.</p>
<p>Both groaned and moved away from each other. “Damn scum,” Nicolò cursed.</p>
<p>A dry snort escaped the Marajin soldier. “Not a nice swear for a Follower.”</p>
<p>Nicolò glared at the man. “Do you think speaking my native tongue will help you survive?”</p>
<p>“No. My skills will help me,” the man said, amusement in his voice.</p>
<p>“You might find yourself at a disadvantage then.”</p>
<p>Again Nicolò attacked, his shoulder having healed already. But he was tired. No matter how fast he healed, this still took a toll on him. But it was the same for his opponent and it didn’t take long until Nicolò’s sword finally found an opening and pushed itself right through the other man’s chest.</p>
<p>But so did the soldier’s sword to Nicolò. A small price to pay for killing this foe.</p>
<p>When Nicolò finally woke up again the sky had darkened and cold creeped about. A fact he disliked strongly about this place. How could it be so hot during the day but this cold at night? The gods must have hated the first people living there.</p>
<p>He groaned and turned on his back. His body had taken its time to push the sword out of his chest but it had done so as it always did. It lay in the sand next to him, covered in blood. </p>
<p>Nicolò glanced at his enemy who had fallen in the opposite direction, their feet almost touching. He sat up, wanting to get his own sword. But the groan coming from his enemy shocked him to his bones.</p>
<p>The sword he had buried in his chest lay next to the man who was lifting himself up as well. The cut in the tunic showed blood but also something else: no wound. Just blood on the skin.</p>
<p>“No,” Nicolò whispered which made the other man look up. In the midst of all the corpses, the lost and thrown away weapons, the blood and feces, they sat there staring at each other with wide eyes.</p>
<p>It couldn’t be. He had thought the gods had made him this way to spread the right faith. Why was this Marajin given this gift as well? Nicolò looked into the other man’s eyes and saw his own questions reflected.</p>
<p>“I thought I was the only one,” the man said, slowly standing up with his hand on the hilt of Nicolò’s sword. Nicolò stood up as fast as he could, scrambling for a sword but only finding the weird Marajin one. It would do.</p>
<p>But the Marajin turned Nicolò’s sword in his hand, presenting him with the hilt. “It’s not as if we can kill each other. No matter how much we want to,” he said.</p>
<p>“But if I let you go you will still kill more of my people,” Nicolò said, reluctantly grabbing his sword and giving the Marajin his sword.</p>
<p>“Right now I find you more interesting than that,” the man said, “I thought I was given this gift for the reason of defence. That I was chosen. But you, having this as well.. It must have another purpose.”</p>
<p>Nicolò sighed. “I thought so, too. You being like this as well feels like there might not be a purpose to this. It might just be our luck.”</p>
<p>The man smiled, the skin around his eyes crinkling a bit. “Weird thought for a Follower.”</p>
<p>Nicolò snorted. “I guess not being able to die puts some things into perspective.”</p>
<p>The man nodded and sheathed his sword.</p>
<p>“Yusuf.” He offered his hand. Nicolò hesitated but took his hand eventually.</p>
<p>“Nicolò.”</p>
<p>The man’s eyes widened a bit but the look was soon gone, exchanged with a more passive smile again.</p>
<p>“So what do you want to do now? Neither of us would leave the other to continue this fight, I assume,” Yusuf said.</p>
<p>“You assume right.”</p>
<p>Nicolò looked around. “Let’s get off this godforsaken battlefield. Get some new clothes. Maybe get to a Free City.”</p>
<p>“Neutral ground. Sounds good to me. The next one is Baraham to the East.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>* * * * *</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Over the last five days both of them had died from exhaustion, hunger and thirst, as well as each other’s swords more than either would have loved to admit. Not that they could talk to anyone else about any of this.</p>
<p>Nicolò spent most days fuming as far away as possible from Yusuf who every couple of hours tried to start a conversation with him. They were only travelling together to keep an eye on each other until they could decide what they wanted to do. As much as he wanted, Nicolò couldn’t leave the guy alone. Because that meant he would go back to the battlefield and kill more Norelians.</p>
<p>The sun burned relentlessly as they continued on for days without an end in sight. Nicolò hadn’t expected the free city to be so far away from where they had started. </p>
<p>After about two weeks of travel they finally reached the city. A huge city it was, filled with people from all over the world, food Nicolò had never heard of, clothes that he had never seen and buildings constructed in a way he had only ever seen in drawings. </p>
<p>Yusuf guided both of them through the streets until they reached a place that Nicolò assumed was a guest house of sorts. He couldn’t read Marajin writing, never bothered to learn it no matter how much his tutors had recommended it, but the voices coming from the open door and the sign decorated with drawings of food and a bed was enough to understand what the place most likely was.</p>
<p>Nicolò would have loved to lead any kind of talk with the owner but his lack of Marajin made it impossible. So he let Yusuf handle everything against his better judgement. That night they both spent sitting in a room they had rented. They had managed to get a wash - and a shave in Nicolò’s case - and were sitting around a small table in the middle of the room, eating fruits and meat.</p>
<p>“You know, there is no need to look at me like that,” Yusuf said after a while.</p>
<p>“Like what?”</p>
<p>“Like you think I’m going to jump over the table and stab you.”</p>
<p>Yusuf picked up a piece of meat and stuck it in his mouth. “Not that I wouldn’t be tempted, still. But we both know it wouldn’t do anything. We need to find a way to deal with our situation and that means at least trying to get along.”</p>
<p>Nicolò scoffed, but kept on staring. “Get along? We killed each other, more than once, and are on opposite sides of this war. I don’t think ‘getting along’ works for us.”</p>
<p>“Would be best though. You also thought you were the only one like this. But if we both are undying and on opposite sides it means whatever this is, we have another purpose than we thought.”</p>
<p>Yusuf smiled and put his knife down. He didn’t even seem bothered. And he tried to be nice, something that felt especially strange to Nicolò.</p>
<p>“But what could it be? You seem to have a lot of thoughts so maybe you have an idea what we are supposed to do,” Nicolò said, crossing his arms over his chest.</p>
<p>“I don’t know,” Yusuf said, sighing, “But if we travel together we might be able to find out. If we two exist, maybe there are or were others before us.”</p>
<p>“Maybe.”</p>
<p>“I mean, it feels like magic, doesn’t it? Like in the old stories? From when the gods walked the world.”</p>
<p>Nicolò nodded and finally turned his eyes away from Yusuf. He ruffled his hair and ate another grape. “It is blasphemous to think that way,” he sighed.</p>
<p>“For a Follower maybe. The way of the Old Gods does not forbid this kind of thinking.”</p>
<p>“Because it considers magic to be in everyone still. Just asleep until the final day, right?”</p>
<p>“You know about our beliefs?” Yusuf asked.</p>
<p>“A little bit. Enough to know your ways aren’t right to bring the world into the next Shining Era.”</p>
<p>“Maybe. Maybe not. We will only know once we are dead.”</p>
<p>“Which probably won’t happen for a long time for us.”</p>
<p>Both their laughter died down again in seconds. </p>
<p>“If we are going to travel together none of us can go back to our old lives,” Nicolò said, “Not that that would be possible or a good idea anyway.”</p>
<p>“Then we have an idea what to do. Let’s plan where we want to head next.”</p>
<p>About a week later after they didn’t find anything of note in any of the libraries or bookshops around Baraham they went on their way. They only had the old stories they both knew from being told as bedtime stories as children to guide them. And those stories guided them east.</p>
<p>They traveled again through the desert, then through a steppe until they reached mountainous areas and forests. They traveled through villages and cities, searching through libraries and bookshops, and private collections if they could. They talked to people involved in religions or people who remembered more versions of the old stories.</p>
<p>Their travels meant fighting as well. Fighting off religious zealots who thought they were blaspheming or fighting bandits on their way. Soon both barely needed to look for where the other was in a fight. It became easy to fight with each other, knowing the other’s strengths and weaknesses and generally being able to tell what the other would do next.</p>
<p>It was also a way to make money for them, working as mercenaries and bodyguards.</p>
<p>Something Nicolò found fascinating was to see Yusuf spending all the time he had nothing else to do with drawing. Nicolò, despite his best efforts, had never managed to pick up that skill. No matter how hard he had tried. But he still enjoyed watching artists, even after all these years. And it reminded him of that one day at that one market.</p>
<p>Yusuf always felt Nicolò’s eyes watching him when he drew something. Nicolò always watched but in those silent moments the way he did it was different. These were curious eyes, passionate eyes almost. Like the eyes of a child. Like Nicolò as a child.</p>
<p>He still remembered that day well but it seemed Nicolò had forgotten everything about it. Yusuf wished he had one of his old sketches with him just to show Nicolò that there had been a day on which they had managed to just talk and exist in the same space without hating each other.</p>
<p>Because he didn’t want to hate. There was too much beauty in the world to hate this one man who was more misguided than anything else. A fallen prince who needed to get up.</p>
<p>Yusuf was sure that Nicolò would find his way. He had already started to warm up to him, had become less cautious around Yusuf. And he had seen and heard things that always seemed to take him by surprise.</p>
<p>One of the biggest things that Nicolò thought about for weeks while they traveled was a formerly prosperous city at the border of Maraji to Teram. The city was big but most buildings were slowly turning into ruins, many stood empty. People who still lived in the city looked underfed and mainly wore clothes ten years out of style.</p>
<p>Nicolò had been confused on their first evening in the city because he had seen pictures of it showing the riches that had made the city.</p>
<p>“Norelia and other countries used to trade more with Maraji. More trade meant more money. More money meant more people to employ and it meant more chances of trading into the far corners of the country. Norelia limited trading with us, supposedly because of our differences in religion, but it was because they wanted us to create a system like you have. With kings and the like. And they wanted more control over trade routes. The merchants didn’t like that so negotiations failed and Norelia pulled their wares from us. Merchants barely come here anymore,” Yusuf had explained.</p>
<p>Nicolò had wanted to argue against him, telling him why those negotiations had been appropriate and right but seeing this city, seeing people walking past him with hate in their eyes, listening to more stories Yusuf told him as he had experienced everything first hand as a merchant's son, it kept him silent. There was nothing he could say to make this better. There was nothing he could do to change any of this. His brother had taken the throne and even if Nicolò went back he knew his brother wouldn’t listen. Especially not to someone who had left a battlefield with a Maraji merchant.</p>
<p>“I wish I could change something,” Nicolò said one night after they had left the city, “But I can’t. No matter who I am and where I come from.”</p>
<p>“Maybe not now, maybe never. But you can listen and you can see everything for yourself. And you can tell people about it. Might not be enough but changing people’s minds takes time. And I guess we have a lot of that.”</p>
<p>In Teram, Nicolò saw more of what had also affected Maraji. More cities that had lost their glory, more people living in poverty. It made his heart ache. Not for his home but for these people and what his own people had done.</p>
<p>He expected to find more hatred in Yusuf’s eyes every day but instead he always looked gently at Nicolò. Maybe there was some form of pity in his eyes but mostly he just seemed understanding.</p>
<p>“I’m surprised you haven’t killed me again and again over the last few months,” Nicolò told Yusuf one day as they got ready to lay down for the night in a small guest room they shared.</p>
<p>“It wouldn’t have changed anything.”</p>
<p>“But it probably would have taken some of the pain for you, wouldn’t it?”</p>
<p>Yusuf smiled again and Nicolò turned his gaze down towards his hands working to open the knots holding his shirt closed.</p>
<p>“I don’t want to hurt you anymore. Only the gods can judge you now.”</p>
<p>Nicolò looked up as Yusuf stepped in front of him to gently pull at the strings and help open them.</p>
<p>“You have shown remorse and want to change things. It doesn’t mean I can fully forgive you right now but I see it and appreciate it.”</p>
<p>“And I appreciate you saying that,” Nicolò said, his voice feeling hoarse and his cheeks feeling warm.</p>
<p>He looked into Yusuf’s warm brown eyes which were always so open and honest and he found more warmth in them than ever before. Nicolò felt like a fourteen-year-old again. Not knowing if he could just lean in or not. He wanted to. He had known that for some time now. It would destroy their fragile relationship so he hadn’t acted on it.</p>
<p>In the end just as it had happened when he had been that young the decision was made for him. Yusuf stepped back again and turned around to his bed before either of them could have done something they both weren’t ready for yet.</p>
<p>Nicolò turned around himself, trying to ignore the heat in his cheeks and the want that made his heart ache.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>* * * * *</p>
<p> </p>
<p>For months they traveled together and never found anything. It was as if information on magic had disappeared with it. The glimpses they found were all what they knew from fairytales and the religions they grew up with. Never anything new that could lead them somewhere.</p>
<p>The only thing Yusuf and Nicolò found was that they enjoyed each other’s presence more and more. Yusuf found himself drawing Nicolò more and more, and Nicolò loved listening to him tell stories while posing for something.</p>
<p>“Do you ever draw something else aside from me?” Nicolò asked one day when they were sitting in a guest room again. Nicolò had been skimming through books while Yusuf drew him.</p>
<p>“I do. You know that,” Yusuf replied, smiling at the paper he was drawing on.</p>
<p>“And I'm not complaining. It's just that I don't think I've seen other drawings you made."</p>
<p>Yusuf glanced at Nicolò. His smile disappeared slowly and left a thoughtful expression. </p>
<p>"Give me a few minutes," he said after a moment of thinking, the smile back on his face. Nicolò could feel his own expression light up as he watched Yusuf turn a page before gently pressing the tip of his pencil against the next. </p>
<p>Nicolò looked back down at the books, trying to make sense of the old Terim dialect used in them. Aside from having done this for hours, the thought of Yusuf drawing something just for him that wasn't his own countenance felt exciting and like another step into the territory Nicolò wanted to get to whenever he was alone and his body was yearning. </p>
<p>"I find it lovely how enamored you are with art despite not being able to draw yourself," Yusuf said. </p>
<p>"It can make you feel things. Not that I haven't met artists who can't create something like that but I've also seen enough over the years that could."</p>
<p>"Let me guess, your royal painter wasn't great," Yusuf said. </p>
<p>"He definitely wasn't. Nor were many other Norelian artists."</p>
<p>"Isn't art seen as something frivolous for your people?" </p>
<p>Nicolò nodded. "Because it supposedly doesn't further society. A laughable argument because I would say artists are at the forefront of furthering society. Because they create and speak their minds more clearly than the next politician." </p>
<p>"If your people could hear you they would probably ask for you to lose your title," Yusuf said. </p>
<p>"I mean, they probably think I'm dead anyway. And I never cared much for it. I have too many older siblings to be of any relevance to the succession order."</p>
<p>Yusuf stopped moving and looked back at Nicolò who felt like he could lose himself in those soft, caring, warm brown eyes. </p>
<p>"It's unfortunate because now that you've seen more of the world I think you would make a good leader. At least a better one than some others," Yusuf said and put his pencil behind his right ear. </p>
<p>"You can say my brother. He and I never agreed on anything and that has gotten worse." Nicolò smiled at Yusuf who looked like he lit up at that, judging by the small lines around his eyes becoming more pronounced and the corners of his mouth gently turning upwards. Then he looked back at his drawing. </p>
<p>Nicolò observed Yusuf as he considered what he had drawn. The furrowed brows, the slightly tilted head, the wondering look in his eyes. He loved watching the process. </p>
<p>"I think you know this one," Yusuf said and with a bit of hesitation he turned the page around for Nicolò to look at the drawing. </p>
<p>Nicolò's eyes widened as he looked at a drawing of a garden. Flowers, fruits hanging from trees, grass swaying in the wind. The only thing missing were the colors but Nicolò recognized it. This view had haunted him since he had been a child and now here it was again. Drawn by his new friend. </p>
<p>"I remember this," Nicolò said gently and looked back up at Yusuf who was rubbing his arms. </p>
<p>"I'm sorry for not saying anything sooner. I wasn't sure if you remembered that day. We were pretty young," Yusuf said.</p>
<p>Nicolò looked back down at the drawing, then back at Yusuf.</p>
<p>"This drawing is what made me realize the potential of art, you know?" </p>
<p>Nicolò stood up to sit down next to Yusuf. </p>
<p>"I guess it was destiny that we met that day and turned out undying at the same time," he said. </p>
<p>"It seems like it," Yusuf said, glancing to his side. The sun shone through the window and laid its gentle yellow glow on Nicolò. His hair shimmered brightly, looking lighter than it was. </p>
<p>Nicolò's gaze found Yusuf's eyes which looked brighter than usual but also warmer and darker at the same time. His eyes told stories his mouth had not dared to say out loud yet but which were ready to spill out. They needed to get out, Nicolò knew that. </p>
<p>He wasn't a boy anymore. He knew how to reach out and embrace what he wanted. And he wanted. </p>
<p>Gently Nicolò lifted his hand and guided it to brush against Yusuf's cheek. Even the slightest brush set him off, his heart racing and the want growing. </p>
<p>Yusuf's hand laid against Nicolò's arm, slowly brushing his thumb against the muscles. He smiled and brushed his lips ever so gently against the palm of Nicolò's hand. They had all the time in the world and he wanted to taste every second until he got what he wanted. He wanted to stretch the seconds as if they only had a short while and not a potential eternity of trying to find each other.</p>
<p>"It must be destiny," Nicolò muttered to himself before slowly leaning in to brush his lips against Yusuf's. Even if it just was for a second, time felt stretched in that moment. People told of sparks and warmth whenever they talked about kissing the love of their life. And it was that. But it was everything else. Earth-shattering, frightening, blissful, heavenly, forever. A small touch of destiny.</p>
<p>That night, after hours upon hours of losing and finding oneself in each other they both dreamed of a steppe to the east, a group of bandits, and two women fighting. Undying.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>* * * * *</p>
<p> </p>
<p>They were two women. One Eastern, one Western. No one had spoken a word yet but they all knew what the other was. Blood was smearing their clothes and faces, bodies peppered the alley, a head was staring up at them, eyes wide in shock.</p>
<p>The Western woman spoke but both men didn’t understand a word. “Norelian?” the Eastern woman asked.</p>
<p>“That would do,” Yusuf said.</p>
<p>“Thank the gods,” the Western woman said and walked towards them.</p>
<p>“Andromache,” she said, putting two fingers of her right hand against her forehead before laying her hand over her heart.</p>
<p>“Remarin?” Yusuf asked and repeated the gesture. He caught Nicolò’s confused gaze from the corner of his eyes.</p>
<p>“It’s an old greeting form from Remari. It basically means ‘Bless the gods’,” Yusuf explained, “It’s not really used anymore but a few older people still do.”</p>
<p>“Of course they don’t use it anymore,” the Eastern woman muttered but still did the gesture as well. “Quynh.”</p>
<p>“I’m Nicolò. And this is Yusuf.” Nicolò repeated the gesture as well.</p>
<p>“Clumsy like a child,” Quynh said but there was no malice behind her words. Just amusement.</p>
<p>“My tutors didn’t cover ancient greeting forms,” Nicolò replied with the hint of a grin.</p>
<p>“Oh, I like that one,” Quynh said and hooked her arm around Andromache’s.</p>
<p>“We have been searching for you two for a bit over a year,” Andromache said.</p>
<p>“So did we,” Yusuf said.</p>
<p>“And for the other man. Have you ever found him?” Nicolò asked.</p>
<p>“Lykon,” Andromache said, “We haven’t seen him in person in two decades I think.”</p>
<p>“Two decades?” Yusuf asked.</p>
<p>“That’s quite a short time actually,” Quynh said, “Come on. We should discuss this somewhere more private. And get out of these clothes.”</p>
<p>The women led them to a small house at the edge of the city by avoiding streets and using rooftops as much as they could. The house itself was nothing special. A small, slightly decrepit thing that barely contained any furniture. But the women had a washroom, some clothes and food.</p>
<p>“So you live here?” Yusuf asked over food and drink some minutes after having washed and gotten into new clothes.</p>
<p>“Occasionally. Usually not for a long time and only after people who could have known us once are dead,” Andromache said.</p>
<p>“How old are you?” Nicolò asked.</p>
<p>“Couple of millennia probably. Lost count,” Andromache replied.</p>
<p>“Millennia?” Yusuf exclaimed.</p>
<p>“I mean, we don’t die so that shouldn’t be surprising,” Quynh said.</p>
<p>Nicolò and Yusuf exchanged a look. “So it’s not something that just disappears when one has done whatever it is we are supposed to do?” Nicolò asked.</p>
<p>Andromache and Quynh both started laughing.</p>
<p>“That’s so typical for someone as young as you are,” Quynh said, “There is nothing we are supposed to do from what we know.”</p>
<p>“And in the time we have lived so far we would have found something,” Andromache added.</p>
<p>Yusuf lowered his hand, the grape in between his fingers rolling back onto his plate. “You don’t know anything?”</p>
<p>“Nothing. We only know we woke up one day on a battlefield with our clothes in tatters and our bodies healed,” Andromache said.</p>
<p>Quynh nodded. “Though we do know that the ability to heal starts even earlier. My injuries always disappeared fast. Only one’s first death is what apparently stops your aging.”</p>
<p>“And after a while one starts to dream about others like us?” Nicolò asked.</p>
<p>“We didn’t dream about Lykon until we met and fell for each other. And had spent a long time together actually,” Andromache said, gently brushing a hair out of Qunyh’s face.</p>
<p>“But we did dream about you guys immediately after your first deaths I presume.”</p>
<p>Nicolò sighed, leaning back against the wall. “So it’s probably just a coincidence that we are the way we are.”</p>
<p>“You did call it destiny. And maybe that is the case. Maybe we just don’t know why yet,” Yusuf said.</p>
<p>Quynh furrowed her brows. “Destiny?”</p>
<p>“It would explain it.”</p>
<p>Andromache and Quynh exchanged a look. “I personally don’t believe in anything like that. But if there is a reason for us being Undying we might have more chance in finding anything together,” Andromache said.</p>
<p>“You would join us?” Nicolò asked.</p>
<p>Andromache nodded. “Of course. Better than just sit and wait.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>* * * * *</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“So you have been searching for any clue for the last twenty years?” Lykon asked, leaning over the pub table and his face shadowed by the hood of his cloak. All of them wore cloaks like that or other coverings. Similar to other travelers inside the pub during these times.</p>
<p>“Yes. But we really haven’t found anything aside from a mention of a prophet who said that immortal gods who could see each other from far away would one day walk the earth again to heal it,” Quynh said, swigging the rest of her drink around in her cup.</p>
<p>Yusuf sighed. “It’s really not a lot. And we haven’t found anything more by the guy so far.”</p>
<p>“It did take us eighteen years to find even that snippet,” Nicolò added.</p>
<p>Andromache put her cup down. “Though I would argue that is a short amount of time for someone like us.”</p>
<p>“They are both still young, my love. Give them time to get used to it.” Quynh gently patted Andromache’s hand.</p>
<p>“I know we have all the time in the world. But look around. Normal people might not have that much time. Humanity is destroying itself day by day.” Nicolò gestured around the room.</p>
<p>Every single foreigner in the room covered their heads and sometimes faces. The clothes of any Norelian were at least a decade out of style. And a giant portrait of the current reigning king - Nicolò’s nephew - hung over the fireplace to remind everyone in the room of their ruler.</p>
<p>“And this is just what you can see right now,” Nicolò added.</p>
<p>“What I see is family resemblance,” Quynh said with a nod to the king’s picture.</p>
<p>“Which is why I think we should leave soon. Before someone else realizes that.”</p>
<p>Yusuf smiled at Nicolò. “While I would love to stay, you are right,” he said, “We need to get somewhere else to plan our next step.”</p>
<p>“And I should be on my way. I wanted to be out of Norelia for a few days already,” Lykon said, emptying his cup.</p>
<p>“You aren’t coming with us?” Andromache asked.</p>
<p>Lykon shook his head. “I love you all but I can’t deal with this. I really want to see more of the world and help people now. If you want to find answers, good for you. But I can’t do that.”</p>
<p>Nicolò patted his shoulder. “And that is a noble thing to do as well,” he said, “Everyone should do what they want to do.”</p>
<p>Lykon smiled at him. “Thank you,” he said.</p>
<p>“And we will see each other again. Ten years from now in Berachic?” Quynh suggested.</p>
<p>“Sounds good to me. I will leave messages at the usual spots if things change.”</p>
<p>“We will do too.”</p>
<p>They left together and separated on the street. Lykon took his horse towards the next city gate and Andromache, Quynh, Nicolò and Yusuf walked deeper into the city to the place they were staying at.</p>
<p>“Do you think we can get into the library?” Andromache asked when they were further away from other people.</p>
<p>“I really don’t know. Our plan so far sounds good and things seem to still be like they used to. But breaking into that place can still be difficult,” Nicolò replied.</p>
<p>“I think getting out will be more difficult,” Yusuf added.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>* * * * *</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The sun burning down on them reminded Yusuf of the first time he was on this road as a child. He still hadn’t gotten used to the heat and the sand. But this time he was even more determined to get through the desert. The only place they hadn’t looked so far was the market. Not that they expected to find something. After almost forty years which had been strongly influenced by war they had heard of the market being abandoned in the desert.</p>
<p>It broke Yusuf’s heart to even think about what the market would look like now. He had too many fond memories of this place and things had changed way too much.</p>
<p>And things had changed more than he thought. The moment he looked upon the broken window panels he felt like crying. This place used to be bustling with people. Now it was a ghost town.</p>
<p>“I didn’t expect it to look like this,” Nicolò said, stepping close to Yusuf and entwining their hands.</p>
<p>“I thought it would look even worse,” Yusuf said.</p>
<p>Andromache glanced at them. “Let’s get going. Back on your horses.”</p>
<p>They continued on towards the broken doors. Reluctantly Yusuf entered and he was sure his horse could feel it as it hesitated as well. They soon realized they couldn’t continue on by horse. Too many pieces of broken glass, metal and wood lay around, covering the paths and small streets.</p>
<p>“When was the last time we were here, Quynh?” Andromache asked, looking up to the roof.</p>
<p>“Sixty years or more? I think we were trying to buy new horses.”</p>
<p>“Maybe you were here at the same time as us then,” Nicolò said.</p>
<p>Andromache and Quynh turned around to look at him and Yusuf. “That would be quite the coincidence,” Andromache said.</p>
<p>“Or as Nicolò would say: ‘Destiny’,” Quynh added, smiling brightly.</p>
<p>They separated, trying to cover more ground. Yusuf and Nicolò went on their way towards the tree they had met under, looking into every stall along the way. Most were empty or contained pots, pans, and age old herbs. They took some things they needed with them and continued on.</p>
<p>They reached the path up to the tree without coming across any of the old bookstores. And when they looked up at the tree it had dried out and the waterfall had disappeared.</p>
<p>“This is worse than I thought,” Nicolò said, “And this used to be an oasis.”</p>
<p>“Maybe it only stayed the way it was because of human interference.”</p>
<p>“Maybe.”</p>
<p>They continued on, taking whatever they needed and looking through books and scrolls they found on the way. Soon they reached the biggest bookstore inside the market. It was situated in its own building with metal decorations around the outside showing forms of books, letters, and quills.</p>
<p>“Have you found anything yet?” Andromache called from down the street as she walked up to them with Quynh.</p>
<p>“A couple of mugs and pans,” Yusuf said, pointing at the bag at his side.</p>
<p>“Me too. I also found a nice travel mirror,” Quynh said, lifting her bag.</p>
<p>“We thought of searching through this store now,” Nicolò said, “If there is still anything there.”</p>
<p>“Then let’s go,” Andromache said.</p>
<p>They left their bags in front of the door and entered a room that was still filled to the brim with books and scrolls, even some stone tablets. People either hadn’t passed through or didn’t care enough because nothing looked like it was destroyed by anyone.</p>
<p>“This is..,” Nicolò started.</p>
<p>“Amazing,” Yusuf added.</p>
<p>They both immediately dived into the amount of books, looking at the titles and searching for anything that could reference magic. Or at least the prophet they had read about before. Andromache and Quynh walked up the stairs to look around there.</p>
<p>“I wonder how much information is hidden here that people didn’t bother to bring anywhere else,” Nicolò said after a while. His nose was deep in a book on medicine as he had taken up the study of it over the years.</p>
<p>“We could take some books with us and come back at some point to get more of them out into the world,” Yusuf said. He opened another book and skimmed through the index before putting it back on the shelf.</p>
<p>Nicolò looked up from his book, a smile on his face and love in his eyes. “That would be a great idea, my love,” he said. He put the book aside, stood up and went close to Yusuf to kiss him gently.</p>
<p>“Information can help heal, right?” Nicolò asked.</p>
<p>“It helped you heal,” Yusuf said.</p>
<p>Their foreheads touching and their arms around each other they continued to stand together just enjoying each other’s presence for a while. It had been so long since they first met in this place. Things had changed but their connection hadn’t.</p>
<p>“Hey lovebirds, I think we found something,” Andromache yelled from the stairs.</p>
<p>“Who are you calling ‘lovebirds’?” Yusuf said with a chuckle.</p>
<p>He and Nicolò walked over and up the stairs to where the women stood at a table on which a big tome lay. It looked old with its thick leather binding that showed breakage at the edges. Quynh was reading over a page, excitement bubbling in her.</p>
<p>“It’s about prophets and contains something about that prophet,” she exclaimed, waving the men over.</p>
<p>“Does it contain anything about his prophecy?” Nicolò asked.</p>
<p>“Not sure yet,” Quynh said, “So far I’ve mainly read descriptions about his life but there have been whole prophecies and philosophical ideas of others in here.”</p>
<p>“Please let there be something,” Nicolò sighed.</p>
<p>Andromache patted his shoulder. “We will find something. If not here we might find something else somewhere.”</p>
<p>“Let’s hope so.”</p>
<p>Quynh turned a page and continued on reading. “There,” she yelled out after a few lines. The others got closer to get a better look at the page.</p>
<p>“He was the last person to make prophecies about people he and others of his time referred to as ‘gods’ because of their ability not to die,” Quynh read out loud, “He was seeing a future in which the magic of the land was dwindling because of human interference and their inability to live together. That is when these gods would come to heal the Source of Magic so humanity would learn to live with it again and with each other.”</p>
<p>“Wait a second,” Andromache said. The others turned their heads to look at her.</p>
<p>“This reminds me of something,” she continued, tapping her index finger against her temple.</p>
<p>Quynh looked up at her with furrowed brows before suddenly her eyes widened. “I know,” she said, “It’s like that one fairy tale we grew up with. About how everyone drank from the Source of Magic and that’s why they had magic.”</p>
<p>“That was a fairy tale you grew up with?” Yusuf asked.</p>
<p>“Don’t forget how much older we are than you. People still used to believe in magic when we were little,” Andromache said.</p>
<p>“Fair point.”</p>
<p>Nicolò looked over the words again. “There is nothing more though,” he said, “Maybe another piece of writing contains that fairy tale?”</p>
<p>Andromache sighed. “Probably unlikely. But we can look around anyway.”</p>
<p>She was right in the end. Even after searching the whole bookstore and the rest of the market over the following days they didn’t find anything that contained that fairy tale.</p>
<p>After five days of searching they separated. Nicolò and Yusuf wanting to go west again in hopes of finding the fairy tale somewhere there, Andromache and Quynh going to the East to search there. All with the promise of meeting again in a year in the city of Gerikam to the East.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>* * * * *</p>
<p> </p>
<p>A year could change a lot. Something they had learned the hard way over the years. But it still was hard to believe sometimes. The once peaceful city of Gerikam was ravaged by war as the Norelian king had sent out his armies again to ‘fight the non-believers’. By now Nicolò knew that the reason was resources. He had seen this enough.</p>
<p>They had promised to meet Andromache and Quynh in this city and they would keep to that. They just had to get through the streets filled with murdering Norelian knights. Nicolò had perfected his fighting from horseback and rode through the masses of soldiers hacking and slaying through them. An arm here, a head there; screams and the smell of blood filled the air. Yusuf was just as effective. Together they made a deadly team.</p>
<p>Nicolò was sure he heard someone call him a ‘traitor to his people’ at some point but he was in the moment, trying not to get hurt too much as to not expose what Yusuf and him were.</p>
<p>It took them about forty more rolling heads to catch a glimpse of Quynh, long hair in a braid and whipping around as she fired arrow after arrow at soldiers.</p>
<p>“There you are,” she yelled, stabbing a soldier through the eye with an arrow she had just pulled out of someone else.</p>
<p>Andromache came up behind her and hacked off the guy’s head before he could attack.</p>
<p>“Well, it was a bit difficult to get here,” Yusuf said, swinging his sword around to cleanly cut through another soldier’s neck. With a gurgle and his blood streaming down his uniform he fell to the ground.</p>
<p>Andromache picked up a soldier’s sword and threw it right through another soldier behind Nicolò who stuck his own sword through another soldier’s throat. “Excuses,” she said, walking over to the men and over the soldiers.</p>
<p>“We should continue this conversation somewhere else,” Quynh said, grabbing a random horse and getting on it. Andromache followed her example and all four took off as fast as they could towards a city gate.</p>
<p>They rode out towards an abandoned village a couple of miles away. No one talked during the ride as they were all too focused on trying to make sure they weren’t followed. There was nothing but greenery and a sandy road and no soldiers daring to follow them.</p>
<p>“Will one ever get used to things changing like this?” Yusuf asked as they got off their horses in front of a rundown house that might have been the house of someone important once.</p>
<p>“It starts to feel like it happens faster and faster at some point,” Andromache replied, tying her horse to a pole.</p>
<p>They opened the door of the house and stepped inside where dusty furniture greeted them. They went to what must have been a dining room once and sat down around the table.</p>
<p>“So, did you guys find anything?” Quynh asked, putting down a bag on the table.</p>
<p>“We found what seems to be spells inside the fairy tale but not enough about the fairy tale itself and where it took place,” Nicolò said, pulling out a few rolls of parchment from his own bag.</p>
<p>“Spells?” Andromache leaned forward, looking down at the parchment as Nicolò and Yusuf started to open the rolls.</p>
<p>Nicolò nodded, smiling at Andromache. “I was a bit skeptical about that actually,” he said.</p>
<p>“But as I said: A lot of religious things we grew up with are not too far from spells as well. And these probably originate from religious practices,” Yusuf said.</p>
<p>Quynh pulled out a book from her bag. “That could make sense actually,” she said, “Because this book here contains the fairy tale and even more.” She opened the book, skipping through it until she found the page she was looking for.</p>
<p>“This version doesn’t contain spells but it does mention the Source of Magic and more details about it,” she continued, following the words with her finger. “Here. ‘There it stood. Magnificent and ancient. The tree that gave and healed in the midst of death itself sprouted on top of a flow of life, surrounded by life that only existed because of it. Here humanity gained knowledge of the divine and brought it into all corners of the world.’”</p>
<p>All four look at each other. “That’s a beautiful picture the writer painted,” Yusuf said.</p>
<p>“A familiar one,” Nicolò said. The others looked at him.</p>
<p>“Familiar?” Quynh asked.</p>
<p>“A tree on top of a ‘flow of life’ which can be water and amidst ‘death itself’ which could be a desert,” Nicolò said.</p>
<p>“The market,” the other three said at the same time, looking from one to the other.</p>
<p>“Well, we should just have stayed there apparently,” Andromache said, making the others laugh.</p>
<p>“Apparently,” Yusuf said, “Does the tale say anything else?”</p>
<p>“It only says that the way to heal the Source would be to use ‘the source of life given in love’. Whatever that means,” Quynh said.</p>
<p>“It would explain why so many of these spells mention the word ‘love’,” Yusuf said, turning around the parchment for the women to look at them.</p>
<p>“I would say we should try it,” Andromache said, reading over the spells and rituals.</p>
<p>Yusuf chuckled. “You sound a lot more excited about this than you were at first.”</p>
<p>“Because if there is one thing I’ve learned over the years it’s that if there are many sources and clues, especially in folk tales, it means there is some truth to it.”</p>
<p>“Then I think it’s decided. Let us get on the way.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>* * * * *</p>
<p> </p>
<p>There it was. How many times had they walked past it, sat under it. Their whole lives, their whole beings were connected to this place. The dead tree on top of a waterfall that no one ever bothered to rip out of the earth. Nicolò smiled gently as he saw the old lanterns hanging on the branches. Their windows were broken and the metal was rusty but they still reminded him of the day he and Yusuf first met. As if it had been yesterday and not almost eighty years.</p>
<p>“So, what do we do now?” Andromache asked, kicking away some planks that used to be part of a stall. </p>
<p>“We try some of those spells. Something should work. We are part of this somehow so we should be able to call upon the tiny bit of magic in this world,” Yusuf said.</p>
<p>He walked up to the tree and gently laid his hand on the bark. “Something has to work,” he muttered.</p>
<p>“We’ll find what it is, my love,” Nicolò said, laying his hand onto Yusuf’s.</p>
<p>“Well, then let’s get started,” Quynh said and opened the bag she was carrying.</p>
<p>Yusuf took from her some paints and brushes and began his work. He had practiced a symbol for a ritual on their way but he needed to be careful. Gently, like his mother guiding his hands, he drew lines, circles and squiggles onto the bark in the ancient language that supposedly was magic itself. Then he gently laid his hand back on the bark and spoke the words that made up the spell.</p>
<p>A small flash appeared on the paint, burning it off the tree but nothing else happened.</p>
<p>“Do you think it worked?” Quynh asked.</p>
<p>“I don’t think so. That spell should have shown immediate results according to the scripts,” Yusuf said.</p>
<p>“Then let’s try another one,” Andromache set and pulled out a cord that she wrapped around the tree. They all touched it, concentrated and spoke the words in the ancient Varalese tongue. Again there was a flash and the cord burned up. But nothing else happened.</p>
<p>They tried three more spells they had found but nothing worked. Everything just burned away.</p>
<p>“We at least have some effect, so that’s a good sign,” Nicolò said, gently rubbing Yusuf’s arm as they sat on the ground, staring at the tree.</p>
<p>“But what? Maybe we were wrong and there is no purpose to our existence,” Andromache said, “What if we just wanted it to be this way?”</p>
<p>“You don’t believe that,” Yusuf said, “You saw magic having some effect and every time you wake up with no injuries, that is magic. The whole construct of our world was based on it and it’s draining, waning. We are the only ones of our kind, moving between the world of normal humans and that of another possibility. That of what was and what can be again. The prophecies and fairy tales taught us that.”</p>
<p>“Damn them. They could be wrong.”</p>
<p>“Yes, they could be. But there is no denying we are unusual and different. And that there could be a purpose for all of this. If we didn’t wake up every time we died I would never believe a prophecy like that. But we do. So chances are it is right,” Nicolò said.</p>
<p>“We tried every spell you found. We tried to reach the tree with our love but it didn’t work,” Quynh said.</p>
<p>Andromache snorted. “It did say ‘source of life given in love’. Maybe we need to fuck under the tree. Or at least you men.”</p>
<p>“That would be as good an idea as any,” Nicolò said, looking at Yusuf who wiggled his eyebrows at him.</p>
<p>“As much fun as that would be, I don’t think that was what that tale meant,” Yusuf said.</p>
<p>“What do you think it could be though? What else is a ‘source of life’?” Quynh asked.</p>
<p>“I don’t know.”</p>
<p>Hours passed as they thought about it. At some point they again considered if sex was the answer but denied it.</p>
<p>Nicolò started to walk up and down the place muttering the phrase ‘source of life’ to himself late at night.</p>
<p>“My heart, I love you till the end of times but you do need to sit down for a while. I don’t think this is working,” Yusuf said, gently guiding Nicolò back down.</p>
<p>“I’m sorry. I just feel out of my element. I know how to heal humans after their blood was spilled but healing plants?” Nicolò sighed, rubbing his face with both his hands.</p>
<p>Yusuf perked up, making everyone stare at him. “I think you got it,” he said, taking Nicolò’s face in both of his hands.</p>
<p>“What?”</p>
<p>“Blood,” Yusuf said, “Blood is a source of life.”</p>
<p>Andromache and Quynh exchanged a look. “Are you serious?” Andromache asked.</p>
<p>“Yes, I am,” Yusuf said. He stood up and walked closer to the tree again. “It’s almost too simple.”</p>
<p>Nicolò walked up to him, wrapping his arms around his middle. “If that is what it takes, my love, I will gladly die knowing we saved the world.”</p>
<p>“If I am right I know I will gladly die by your hands again, filled by knowing we had each other until the very end,” Yusuf said. He turned his head and gently kissed Nicolò.</p>
<p>“Wait. What?” Quynh asked and looked even more confused when Yusuf and Nicolò separated to pull their swords out of their scabbards.</p>
<p>“We and this tree belong together and if we have this gift then it should be what heals this tree,” Nicolò said.</p>
<p>“Let’s give back what was given then,” Yusuf said.</p>
<p>Andromache walked in between them. “You aren’t serious. You can’t be serious,” she said.</p>
<p>“Yes, we are,” Yusuf said.</p>
<p>“It makes sense, Andromache. And maybe our purpose ends with this. But it was a purpose,” Nicolò told her. Gently he pushed her aside.</p>
<p>“Don’t forget to ever stay together and be there for each other,” Yusuf told the women. Then he looked back at Nicolò who whispered ‘I love you, Yusuf’.</p>
<p>“I love you, too, Nicolò,” Yusuf whispered in return.</p>
<p>They both took deep breaths as they looked into each other’s eyes. And without as much as a warning they both pushed their swords right into each other, up to the hilt. It hurt. The burning around the metal felt like it could kill one but all Yusuf wanted to feel was the love of his life in his arms.</p>
<p>He wrapped his free arm around Nicolò who returned the gesture and slowly lifted his head. “My love, forever, no matter where and when,” Nicolò breathed and pressed his lips to Yusuf’s. He could feel blood flow from his front and back as they both moved their swords around to spill more.</p>
<p>Neither knew how long they stayed like this, bleeding out with their weapons still embedded in them, their lips together sending sparks like it was their first kiss, and slowly sinking to their knees.</p>
<p>Their love was eternal, just as that tree was supposed to be, as the tree would be again. And their lives were given out of that love, knowing that no matter what awaited them across the bright sea, they would always be together. Their bodies intertwined forever, their souls connected, their hearts beating as one.</p>
<p>Their love flowed down their bodies onto the ground with every drop of blood dripping down, slowly soaking the ages old earth. And with their last kiss and last breath they loved another fiercely and eternally as they sank down more, their eyes fluttering, and their lips swearing their love for one last time.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>* * * * *</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Their love would forever be a magic symbol, a spell, keeping the tree alive and green until the end of times in that place, spreading magic all over the world,” the Storyteller said, tapping the strings with gentle care so the illusion would show the tree growing again.</p>
<p>“And it is said that these Immortal Lovers would not only live on through that but that they also walked away again with no scar but even more love for each other and the world. A love eternal.”</p>
<p>Slowly the illusion formed the letters ‘The End’ and then blurred until it disappeared entirely. Everyone was staring in awe up at him. Then one after another started clapping. The children jumped up and down wanting to ask questions. The Storyteller smiled.</p>
<p>He bowed, thanked everyone for listening and walked off the stage. A little girl, her dark hair made up in intricate forms, was the first to speak to him. “The story is true, right? That the Immortal Beings brought back magic through this?” she asked.</p>
<p>The Storyteller smiled at her. “Some things might have been exaggerated but yes. Their love did save the world from collapsing because magic was missing.”</p>
<p>She squealed and looked at her mother who had just walked up to them. “Ni, please leave the nice man alone now. He probably needs to take a break after that long story. And you need to go to bed.”</p>
<p>“I’m not tired yet,” the girl pouted as her mother guided her towards the door.</p>
<p>The Storyteller walked to the bar, ordered a drink and looked around the room again. He could see people talk, their eyes wide, their hands gesturing. They had never heard the story like this.</p>
<p>“Not to tell you how to do your job but you shouldn’t tell people that fairy tales are true,” the man from earlier with the judgmental expression said.</p>
<p>“Why is that?”</p>
<p>“Because it will hurt them in the end.”</p>
<p>“Who said it’s a fairy tale though?”</p>
<p>The man rolled his eyes. “Please, the whole ‘love conquers all even hatred between people’ thing? Classic fairy tale plot. It might be good for teaching morals but never for the hard, true facts. Six hundred years ago, no matter what happened, the Norelian and Marajin people would have never made peace with each other. Not even a single one. There is no account of it.”</p>
<p>The Storyteller looked at the other man. “So you think because no one wrote about it in your history books that two people of warring countries wouldn’t have been able to fall in love?”</p>
<p>“That’s what I mean. Especially not a prince and someone whose status was basically that of a prince in his country.”</p>
<p>The Storyteller made a thoughtful noise. “See, I understand your point of view. But consider this: Magic is real so why wouldn’t these Immortal Beings be real? And if they are real they would try to not have people write down their history because it could fall into the wrong hands. Or just for privacy reasons.”</p>
<p>“It’s awfully romantic,” the man said, “It doesn't reflect reality. No one has ever reported seeing someone walk away from their own death. It’s a classic piece of humanity wanting to see gods walk among them. Way too romantic to be real.”</p>
<p>“Maybe reality needs some romance. It brings joy,” the Storyteller said. He lifted his glas to his lips and drank all of it in one go.</p>
<p>“Now excuse me. My friends are waiting,” he said and walked away towards the door, past a blond man smirking into his drink. In front of the door the two women and the other man stood.</p>
<p>Gently, the Storyteller intertwined his hand with that of the other man. They kissed gently and walked out of the door which was being held open by the taller of the two women.</p>
<p>“Move it,” she said.</p>
<p>“Okay, okay, Andromache,” the man next to the Storyteller said before the door closed behind them.</p>
<p>The judgmental man almost dropped his glass and swore he could have seen a smirk forming on the Storyteller’s face. He turned to the barkeeper.</p>
<p>“Say, do you know this Storyteller’s name?” he asked.</p>
<p>“Yusuf, like that character from his story,” the barkeeper said, slowly turning his face towards the door as did many others in the same vicinity, wondering, fearing.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Maybe gods did walk among them.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>* * * * *</p>
<p> </p>
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<p>(post for the picture: <a href="https://treeborgs.tumblr.com/post/644310491821473792/in-a-world-that-lost-its-magic-a-group-of">here</a>)</p>
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